


Dreaming About Providence And Whether Mice Or Men Have Second Tries

by thecolourclear (afinch)



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Not by Leo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-11
Updated: 2006-05-11
Packaged: 2018-11-06 22:47:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11045928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afinch/pseuds/thecolourclear
Summary: Mallory goes to see her father after a terrible event.





	Dreaming About Providence And Whether Mice Or Men Have Second Tries

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the LeoFicAThon on LJ, 2006

The last time he had seen her cry, she was seventeen and graduating from High School. He'd gotten drunk after the ceremony and she'd said something and the harsh tones from him were enough to mar the most beautiful of days. She'd cried and he'd apologised; she'd wiped her eyes and said it was all ok, but it wasn't -- and they both knew it. 

She was in his office, silently sobbing. Margaret hadn't known what to do and the soft whispers to him from her annoyed him.

"Well, did you offer her a soda?"

She bumbled, "I can do that now, sir. Are you going to go in?"

"You didn't get her some water?"

"She was crying and said she wanted ..." Margaret trailed off at the angry look on her boss' face. "Would you like me to get her some water?"

"YES!"

Margaret scurried off and he entered the office, apprehension on his face. She was sobbing, grabbing Kleenex as she needed them and letting them drop slowly to the floor. He sighed softly, he had no idea what to do. He grabed another chair and pulled it alongside hers, gently touching her shoulder. She shuddered, he pulled back, uncertain now. What kind of father couldn't comfort his own daughter?

"Mall?" he aske apprehensively, his faced filled with concern ... and fear.

When Mallory finally looked up, her eyes were full of cold hard hatred. "How did you do it?" she asked, her voice full of venom. She was sad, scared, cold, lonely ... and her way of dealing with it was to lash out at her father. The same father that she'd come to for comfort. She hadn't meant to shudder away from his touch -- she would have shuddered from anyone's -- but the damage was done. She started to cry again, sobbing into her hands, "I thought you were such a bad father."

The look that crossed his face was twisted with anger, sorrow, and a memory of a dance recital. She had been seven and he had promised over and over again that no matter what he would be there. No matter what. He'd shown up with a bottle in hand, cheering loudly. Mallory had quit dance two weeks later. Jenny never mentioned the incident, he never mentioned the incident and Mallory had laughed and claimed she never liked dance anyways. "I was a terrible father," he said softly.

She sobbed harder and shook her head, "Not by today's standards, dad."

A steady silence filled the room. Magaret entered quietly and set two glasses of water down, then gave Leo a long look before gently shutting the door behind her. 

"Mal, you want to tell me what happened?" he sighed, rubbing his head. "Please?"

She shook her head, still sobbing. "Why, you have a country to run, Dad?" Yes, she did want to tell him, more than anything in the world. "Remember when I was nine, dad?"

"When you were nine?" He'd stopped drinking publically by then. Stopped showing up to events of hers drunk. He'd get drunk after, but for his little girl, after ruining dance, he wasn't going to ruin anything else. He could at least try that. "This is about when you were nine?"

"It's about a nine year old," Mallory whispered. A nine year old named Jimmy Sotta -- and another nine year old named James Persives. Both nine year old boys, both with horrible pasts and horrible fathers and Mallory in common. "Remember when I was nine?"

"I don't remember a lot from when you were nine, no."

"You beat up one of my classmates fathers," Mallory said sharply. "You beat him up and you weren't arrested, so no one knows about it but you and him and me and his son. Do you remember when I was nine?"

Theodore Sotta. He thought he'd forgotten that face. And the face of his blonde haired blue eyed son that had a crush on Mallory. "Jimmy's dad beats him!" Mallory had come home, her pigtails half undone. "Dad, Jimmy's dad hurts him and you have to stop it. Please!" The pleading in her eyes had prompted him to do something that night. He staggered over to the Sotta house and heard the cries of Jimmy. He hadn't knocked, just barged in and yanked the man off his terrified nine year old boy. Jimmy looked on as his father was taken out by a drunk man in less than five minutes.

"Dad?" Mallory asked, at the look on her father's face. "Dad?"

"I remember," he said softly. "I remember that whole night. I called 911 for your boyfriend, waited with him until the police came. He went to live with his aunt in Texas." He smiled and let out a short laugh, "You called me your hero that year. What happened to him anyway? Last I heard he went to work for the oil execs after going to Harvard."

Mallory shook her head, "That's not important Dad."

This time he shook his head, "No. That was my one redeeming thing. As a father."

"Dad," she whispered softly, her eyes filling with tears. "Dad you were good most of the time. I never thought you didn't love me. Mom always made sure of that."

There was a sharp knock at the door and Margaret entered, her face scarlet, "I'm sorry, sir, but they've crashed it." 

"Again?"

He sighed as a Secret Service agent came in, "Sir, Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to step into the Oval Office.

"Fifth time in two weeks," he muttered. "Sorry, Mall."

Just as soon as it had begun, it was over, and Mallory had a strong suspicion what her father's secretary would be talking to the other secretaries about once she'd left. Not to mention the President, who'd only smiled softly at her, but it was Josh she was more worried about. She sat back down in her fathers office, far less shakey than she had been when she'd first sat down. "Where were we?" she asked softly.

"Sam Seaborn," he grinned. "You two have an actual date yet?"

Mallory shook her head, "No ... no, Dad. Jimmy Sotta. You weren't a horrible father. I thought you were such a horrible father."

"Mallory," he said softly, resting a hand on her shoulder. "Mallory, tell your father what's going on." He was far more worried than he was letting on -- Mallory was usually unshakable.

"There was another Jimmy," she said slowly, ignoring her father's sharp intake of breath. "His name is James. Was James. James Persives. His father --" she struggled for the words. "His father -- I sent James home two days ago for fighting. His father -- his father --"

"Mall, shh, it's ok. Mall."

"No, Dad!" she snapped. "It's not ok! You know why? His father was so angry he took a baseball bat --"

"Mall!" he said sharply, pulling his daughter into his arms, something he had not done since she was a little girl. "There was nothing you could have done, love. There was nothing you could have done."

She sobbed, clinging to him, letting his soothing words wash over her. He was her protector, her comforter, but most importantly, he was her father.


End file.
